Death of a Follower, Birth of a Dictator
by GcNm
Summary: Before he was Caesar, he was Edward. Before he was The Malpais Legate, he was Joshua. The rise of one of the most ruthless post-war societies in existence, and the transition of two young men from Follower to Dictator, and Man of God to Man of War.
1. Chapter 1

-This is my second upload of this same story, it was suggested that I make it into short paragraphs. Reviews are appreciated; I'm debating whether or not to continue this since I didn't really get any reviews, so if you fancy this please let me know. Enjoy! (hopefully)

Chapter 1

Even from a post-apocalyptic standpoint where anything that can go wrong tends to do so, it was difficult for Edward to realize exactly what had just happened to him and his colleagues, and even more so why.

Edward had personally considered the tribes of Arizona to be primitive and disgusting, but he took care never to make this disdain palpable to the tribes themselves during the course of the expedition that his Follower superiors insisted he attend.

He wished more and more as he sat there tied to a wooden beam that he had focused more on his anthropology studies rather than his linguistics, there would be no reason for him to even be here learning tribal dialects had he not been an unintentionally skilled translator.

His prudence in maintaining his winsome personality around the tribes and his growing knowledge regarding "foreign" languages still didn't take away from the fact that he felt learning to speak like an ignorant barbarian was an utter waste of time, Edward certainly wasn't the type with a high level of tolerance for those he considered beneath him.

The only beneficial thing out of this venture thus far was that he had attained some fascinating new pre-war books, which he had always enjoyed reading. He had yet to truly delve into the personality and accomplishments of the man the old world knew as Caesar despite being impressed with what he had read as of late, though the thought had crossed his mind that Caesar would have been just as capable to rule as his master Pompey, if not more so.

The historical accounts of a man who had lived thousands of years ago weren't going to help Edward with his current situation though; only his intellect could, something Edward took a sort of condescending pride in.

Calhoun was a good man; idealistic, magnanimous, a true paradigm of ethical behavior amongst the Followers and humanity itself. His medical expertise was what was sought after for this expedition most of all, as opposed to his "astounding" ability to maintain a calm composure in precarious situations. He had only volunteered for the expedition in hopes of satisfying his desire to "bring the torch of knowledge to the wastes" (as was the mission of the Followers); he personally couldn't stand the odious and arrogant Edward, and had almost reconsidered his attendance entirely when he heard that he'd be working alongside him.

Calhoun himself was a mild mannered man; timid looking, and acting thusly. His biggest fear at the moment was that he had no idea why any of this was happening, why he and his fellow Followers had been tied up like rabid animals. He had always held respect for the tribes for their ingenuity and survival skills, but less so for their tendencies to cling to traditions neither applicable nor useful in the current age or for their xenophobic habits, their maltreatment of their guests and their petulant welcome was a testimony to said xenophobia.

Joshua Graham was an archetypal Mormon missionary; young, bright, set to make his mark on the world, similar to Calhoun in his generous nature. What distinguished him from his fellows was his unwavering faith in God. The Followers were predominantly atheist after all; most, such as Calhoun, believed that no loving God would ever subject His people to a nuclear apocalypse, whereas Edward believed it to be imbecilic to believe in something that can neither be seen nor interacted with.

Joshua prided himself in maintaining his stoic demeanor, even in the face of the highly unexpected and abrupt, such as what had just occurred. The thought never once crossed Joshua's mind that God would abandon his people to their own fates, he just maintained that He worked in mysterious ways to bring his children closer to the light of his love.

He had met with Edward and Calhoun in the Grand Canyon, while travelling along I-15 and Route 89, and elected to use his already existing tribal expertise to assist them in their mission. He viewed Calhoun as altruistic and good natured enough, despite his apparent lack of faith in the Lord. Edward, however, he considered to be narcissistic and far more interested in himself than in the teachings of God, or in assisting his fellow man. He was impressed with his intellect thus far though, despite the fact that he did not appear either grateful or appreciative for his God given gift, and was not interested in using it for the betterment of humanity.

As he, Calhoun, and Joshua sat there tied up on separate beams, Edward noticed Joshua shifting his hands near his waist, as if trying to reach for something that was in his back pocket. Edward was hoping it would be a switchblade or another small weapon that the tribals had failed to take notice of when they'd patted them down, but an eye roll was evoked when he saw that Joshua was just going for a little black book, something to do with his religion as far as Edward knew.

As soon as Joshua had worked the small book around to his front, he bowed his head and began murmuring a verse. "Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid or terrified because of them, for the LORD your God goes with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you."

"Hey, Mormon!" Edward growled as he saw that Joshua had nothing useful to contribute at the moment other than prayers to a nonexistent deity. Joshua noted Edward's snarl and turned his head to face him.

""Mormon" has a name Mr. Sallow; it's Joshua, Joshua Graham. Can I help you with something?"

Joshua's sarcasm and his mock politeness served to make Edward even more annoyed. "Don't patronize me. Right now, "Mormon" is your only name, since it's your fault we're even in this mess!"

Joshua found Edward's logic interesting, apparently the fact that he had made a mistake, however large it was, meant that his name was now erased from history, replaced by his religious affiliation. Joshua kept quiet about his analysis of Edward's logic though; another facetious comment might just make Edward even more infuriated, which is not something that Joshua needed to see.

Edward had started to cool down, his anger and petulance replaced by cold, calculating analytics. When he composed himself, he took a deep breath and turned to face Joshua once again. "Alright, what happened? You said that they were fine with us entering the camp, but then we were beaten down like animals and tied up; that doesn't exactly translate to "fine"." Edward was still licking at his lip due to a blow from the butt of a rifle that he'd received from a panicked and naïve looking tribal once they'd entered the camp.

"It's possible I made a mistranslation, though my knowledge of tribal languages rarely allows for such things, I'm not sure." Edward became more pragmatic at this point. "Well, regardless of why, we're here. We aren't dead yet, so I'm assuming they have other plans." Edward and Joshua had yet to even take notice of Bill Calhoun, who had been as panicked as Edward was angry for the last five minutes to the point of hyperventilation. When Edward took note of the continuous wheezing occurring to his right, he looked over and gave Calhoun his version of compassion and reassurance.

"Hey! Calm down! Breathe slowly, and deeply. The last thing I need is you dying on my expedition because you choked on your own breath, the old woman would have my ass." Edward's astounding sympathy worked, and Calhoun calmed himself long enough to speak. "I-I don't understand! What do they want with us? We don't have anything they'd want!" Joshua chimed in, with his youthful facetiousness in tow. "If it makes you feel any better the tribes of Arizona are not typically predisposed to cannibalism, so they want us alive for something besides sustenance I assume."

Edward spoke once more. "Most likely they intend to ransom us."

Calhoun, curious about the conclusion, spoke. "And how did you figure that out, oh brilliant one?"

"The tribes around here survive by hunting game, look at their weapons; most of them are tied together by string, they look on the verge of falling apart, they'd be lucky to kill a bloatfly or a gecko with those, nothing like a bighorner or a Brahmin though. Chances are they haven't had a major kill in a while, which explains their emaciated look. They'll want caps so they can trade for better guns, parts, and ammunition, most likely at that shanty town we passed about an hour ago. Seems they know that we're the leaders of the expedition, which explains why the others are gone, since we're the only ones they need to ransom back to the Followers. Chances are they're already dead, so they can show the Followers that they mean business and are not to be trifled with."

Calhoun admitted it was sound deduction, but the thought continued to cross his mind that if the tribals hadn't eaten anything significant in weeks, they wouldn't be picky about their cuisine choices, especially if viable (albeit morally questionable) food wandered right into their camp and didn't put up a fight, despite Joshua's assurances to the contrary.

The camp itself was fairly large, surrounded by a makeshift wooden fence, filled with Blackfoots scurrying about performing their tasks, and tattered looking and miniscule tents. Some had gathered around a meek looking fire to Edward's front to perform some sort of prayer, or perhaps a rite for the dead. Edward scoffed at the idea, lacking comprehension of what was to gain by mourning over the body of something that had already died.

Another Blackfoot took his position behind a makeshift bar, serving up a revolting looking soup to his fellow tribals, most likely something produced from certain herbs and plants indigenous to the area due to their inability to hunt at the moment.

Others had been carrying crates of ammo to guards near their gates, and several managed to actually drop them, spilling the precious and scarce rounds all over the place. Edward rolled his eyes at their imprecision and inefficiency, curious how other tribes had not steamrolled over them by now. A thought then crossed Edward's mind; why were their guards near the front gates at all? Surely the wildlife didn't pose this much of a threat to their camp to evoke scurrying about like frightened animals and keeping their gates guarded this densely.

"Mor-Joshua, those Blackfoots over to your left, can you hear what they're saying?"

Joshua looked inquisitively at Edward, finding humor in the irony of the fact that the same languages that Joshua knew and that Edward was secretly disdainful toward would now be of actual use. "Yes, I can. Shall I translate the speak of the savages for you, dear Edward?"

Joshua didn't bother waiting for another elicited and flippant response to his sarcasm, and slowed his breathing to better hear what the two young looking Blackfoots were speaking about. "They seem nervous, as if something is going on right now, something detrimental to the well-being of their tribe, something about others, and death, and-"

Joshua's hazy translation was cut short by yelling, coming from outside of the camp's borders. An imposing yet wizened old man had emerged from the largest tent near the center of the camp to see what the commotion was about. The yelling continued, with virtually every Blackfoot in the camp now looking in the direction of the front gates towards the cacophony.

It was then that the sound of gun fire echoed throughout the camp, several of those Edward had figured were the warriors of the tribe who were in reserve moved to the front of the camp to assist, and the old man retreated back into his tent quickly, most likely due to the fact that he was clearly well past his fighting years. Calhoun went back into his hysterics and hyperventilation, crouching down as far as his restraints would physically allow him and attempting to cover his ears with his shoulders. Edward looked more disturbed than scared of the immediate danger the gunfight posed, the kind of disturbed look one has when one is told of a deadly and long term disease that will chip away at the body. Joshua bowed his head, and started mumbling something inaudible; a prayer for delivery from darkness or some other superstitious nonsense, Edward figured.

Edward could tell the Blackfoots were at a disadvantage immediately, the only weapons he had seen among the tribe were bolt action, occasionally semi-automatic rifles; the most dominant sound he heard consisted of automatic weapon fire, already indicating that if the enemy didn't also have superior numbers and or training, they had superior weaponry.

The gunfight continued for another two minutes, with the Blackfoots emerging the victors only in a very broad sense. Edward assumed that the opposing faction had either retreated or been killed somehow, but the victory came at a cost of at least five casualties for the Blackfoots as indicated by several young men, possibly still alive, being carried back into the camp. With the tribe's ignorance of medical science however, their days were likely numbered.

As the last body was carried back into camp grounds, Joshua looked to Edward, his youthful wit clearly dissolved at the moment. "They aren't just having trouble hunting, they're at war."

Edward hadn't even looked to acknowledge the Mormon, a curt nod was all there was to indicate that he had even heard him. "And we're stuck in the middle of it."


	2. Chapter 2

-Thank you to those who took the time to review, please continue to do so and don't be shy about criticizing me please! Sorry if this feels a little slow, I'm thinking about how I can start to heat things up a bit, enjoy!

Chapter 2

The tribals, too preoccupied with their tasks, had scarcely taken notice of their three guests since the skirmish, since their capture even; almost as if they had been brought there just for amusement.

Calhoun couldn't help but think more and more that the tribals had only captured them for the purpose of watching them endure perpetual mental torture consisting of endless thoughts regarding what the intentions of their captors were, or what the future held for them. Either that, or they were to be used as bullet shields during the next attack, which was sure to come.

Edward hadn't shaken his disturbed demeanor since the fight, Calhoun had rarely, if ever, seen him like this. It made sense though; Edward's number one concern in life was himself, and it was starting to sink in that he was in the most danger he'd ever been in, many of those bullets fired by the opposing faction came very close to the three, several even pierced the tent right behind Joshua.

Edward's fear melded with anger, as most of his feelings did; he'd been tied to a rock, and that rock was being thrown into the ocean. Hunger and thirst had started to set in as well, the neglect would have been more insulting to the three had they not been given many other more significant reasons to take insult.

Joshua desisted from prayer long enough to return to the situation at hand. "William, you are a physician, are you not?"

Calhoun glanced over the still shocked Edward to acknowledge the Mormon. "Yes, I am. From the way our expedition is going as of now we're all going to need one at one point."

"My thoughts exactly." Joshua remarked, "We can offer them your medical services to the wounded in exchange for our freedom."

Edward spoke for the first time since the end of the battle. "As if these pissant savages will know what a physician is, let alone desire the services of one."

In a way, Calhoun was glad that Edward's first words in almost half an hour had been sarcastic and rude; there had clearly been no irrevocable damage to his sparkling personality.

Before the matter could be discussed further, a large tribal approached the three from the area of the currently obscured northern section of the camp, his gaze set on Calhoun in particular. A garble of unintelligible grunts came from the tribal; Edward looked to Joshua with widened eyes halfway through the garble, clearly expecting an interpretation.

Joshua shot a glance over to Calhoun. "He knows you're a doctor, a "shaman" as they refer to it, he wants you to heal their warriors that were wounded in the attack."

Edward smirked at the naïve statement of the tribal, as if medicine was some sort of undemanding and intrinsically known practice to be exercised as regularly as sleeping or eating. Regardless, he was surprised that the tribals had enough sense to find someone to heal their wounded, even though they still had to attach an archaic term to justify its use. Calhoun shared Edward's disbelief as well; he hadn't known the tribes of Arizona to be particularly versatile in embracing new ideas, with many even directly renouncing the benefits of medical science, adopting a "survival of the fittest" philosophy.

"Well, if you're going to treat them, I'll need to come to; you'll need me to translate what your patients are saying and such, assuming they're still capable of speech." Joshua added.

Edward didn't appreciate this; he had no intention or desire to remain left alone like the ostracized child on the playground while his party members at least got the opportunity to stretch their legs. "You're not leaving me here, tell the savage that we're all going or none of us go."

Joshua returned the tribal's so called "words" with his own hodgepodge of barely interpretable groans and mumblings. The tribal looked unhappy and shot Edward a cold gaze, seemingly aware that it was his suggestion that all three go together.

The two held a tense conversation for the next minute or so, some of which Edward was able to understand since he reluctantly agreed to allow Graham to start teaching him some of the languages of the Arizonian tribes. At last, the tribal raised an eyebrow to the three and made one last grunt. He then reached for the machete at his waist and leisurely cut all three of them loose from their respective beams of isolation.

The tribal motioned for them to start moving towards the northern area of the camp, slowly following with his machete still drawn and at the ready. Edward took the opportunity to take in his surroundings, noting choke points, open areas, and other things of interest in case the opportunity to make a hasty escape presented itself.

Joshua quickly stuffed the bible into the front of his pants as he saw the tribal approaching them, unsure of how he would react to a foreign religion within his camp. As far as he knew, many of the tribes worshipped only things that were visible, such as the sun and the moon, completely forgoing the value of faith in the unseen that he felt was imperative for a genuine religion to exist and prosper.

As the three continued to walk northward, a single tent in particular distinguished itself from the others, primarily because a plethora of blood curdling screams had their origins from it. Calhoun was lagging behind Joshua and Edward, clearly reluctant to enter the tent from which the disturbing sounds emanating.

He had treated natural illnesses before, such as pneumonia and influenza, even the occasional addict in need of some Fixer, but he had only been trained in the basics of gunshot treatment, and this training was certainly never on a live and suffering human being. The tribal gave a brusque yet mild bump into Calhoun's back from the hilt of his machete, indicating that the physician's disinclination to enter the tent to treat his brothers was not appreciated.

Calhoun responded to the bump, and hesitantly made his way into the tent that Joshua had courteously held the flap open to. Edward was already inside, observing the extent of the tribe's casualties. Calhoun followed, with Joshua and the tribal flanking him; if the sights first observed upon entering the tent didn't serve to accurately describe the situation, the stench certainly did.

Calhoun counted eleven men in visual agony inside of the tent on several small and uncomfortable looking cots, with five more either passed out or already passed on. The smell of dried blood and infection lingered, indicating that some of these men had been wounded prior to yesterday. There were about nine unused cots with more dried blood on them, meaning that some of the wounded since the start of this war had already died.

Most of Calhoun's senses were suffering; the smell made him nauseous, the visual and auditory factors testifying to the men's anguish made him cringe, the odor even felt as if it was in his mouth, further contributing to his urge to vomit. He could no longer tolerate it; he tried to move past the leviathan of a tribal that had escorted the three in his search for fresh air, but to no avail.

The tribal didn't bother expending energy trying to push Calhoun back into the tent; all that was necessary was for him to stand there, arms folded nonchalantly as the averagely sized physician attempted to force his way out. Joshua placed himself behind Calhoun as he gave up his attempts at forceful exit, drawing a handkerchief from his shirt pocket and handing it to his new friend to help him breathe a bit easier.

"Calm yourself William, just take a deep breath and try to breath only into this."

Calhoun spoke, a repulsed and simultaneously fearful look dominating his face. "I-I've never seen anything like this; I-I treat junkies, broken bones, I've never-oh the smell it's-"

"William, I know you don't believe in God, but I do; He's taken me to…interesting places."

Calhoun looked curiously at Joshua, clearly expecting a story to support his belief that there was in fact a God.

Joshua sighed. "I was born in Ogden, in Utah. I was raised to love the Lord, and keep his commandments. I was trained with a gun though; the world is an… uncertain place, and self-defense is not immoral in God's eyes. When I was 18 years old, I saw three men beating one of my fellow villagers, very badly, on the outskirts of the town. It took me a moment to make my decision, but looking into my brother's eyes…I saw there was only one, albeit a difficult one. I drew my gun and fired, killing all three. I later found out that these men came from another village, and had families, children that they were just trying to provide for, they only wanted my brother's money. It was cruel to proceed about it the way that they did, but in a world where one of the only ways to provide IS to steal…I became unsure of my place in God's world, I prayed for days about the incident. Then I realized; God doesn't enjoy placing difficult choices in our laps, but he needs to so that the world might become a better place. We don't have to take pleasure in our tasks, in fact, most seldom do; but doing them is better than the alternatives. Those three men were God's children, he loved them as he does you and I, but they also chose to engage in brutality, whereas my brother committed no wrongs. It pains me to say so about any of God's creatures but… better them than my brother. You to have a difficult choice before you; what we see here is not pleasant, in fact it's repulsive, but many of the wounded here are young men; they have a right to life, they will die without your aid, which I know you do not want to see happen."

Calhoun found himself oddly calmed by Joshua's pragmatic monologue, regardless of its religious implications. Still, Calhoun occasionally had doubts about whether religion was a complete fallacy before, perhaps Joshua and religion in general had some partial correctness in their beliefs, there was no way to know for sure.

Calhoun understood his role in things, at least somewhat clearer now; there was no purpose in asking philosophical or religious questions, primarily because finding absolute answers is an almost impossible feat; all that really mattered was the difference he could make, here and now. He repositioned himself back into reality, and briefly assessed what needed to be done in order to save the lives that were now in his hands.

He took one last deep breath into Joshua's handkerchief, and looked to Joshua. "I need the bag back that they confiscated, and I'll need something to sterilize my materials, alcohol perhaps." Joshua addressed the tribal in the Blackfoot dialect, making him aware of the necessity of supplies in order for medical treatment to take place. The tribal flashed his eyes behind Calhoun to indicate that his bag had already been brought to the tent, placed by the most critical looking patient's bed.

Calhoun noticed a bottle of vodka on the tribal's belt, and boldly motioned for the large man to relinquish the beverage. The tribal expressed reluctance to give up the bottle, but seemed aware that it was necessary and heedlessly tossed the bottle to Calhoun, who was barely able to catch it.

Calhoun's first step was to pour a modest amount of the vodka on his hands, to avoid the possibility of causing or furthering infections in his patients. He was about to observe his first patient, when he realized that Edward was gone.

Edward's unmistakably insolent voice sounded itself from another, previously undiscovered section of the tent as soon as his absence was noted. "Hey! In here!"

Calhoun and Joshua looked to the tribal to confirm that going to the other section of the tent was copasetic, to which he nodded. The two then moved toward the direction of Edward's voice, through a flap with Edward's silhouette visible on the other side.

There were more wounded in the other section of the tent, not by gunshots though; from being beaten. Not tribals either; but the other six Followers of the expedition. All of them were unconscious, all of them bleeding and severely bruised.

"Well," Edward said, "it seems that we're the ones they aimed to intimidate using the other Followers."

"And they aren't dead either," Joshua noted, "just brutalized."

Their tribal babysitter appeared behind them. "Chieftain say it to make you work harder, make you fear being like them. You work now."

Calhoun understood the message loud and clear, and returned to the other section of the tent to begin treating the critically wounded warrior. He had been shot in the leg and arm, which normally wouldn't be bad had it not happened approximately two weeks ago, more than enough time for infection to set in and start taking its course.

"The bullets went straight through; Joshua, hand me the pills in my bag, they're antibiotics."

Joshua responded and handed Calhoun the tiny blue pills, forcing them down the unconscious warrior's throat as he poured large amounts of the vodka on the wounds themselves.

Edward spoke in regards to the relatively simple fix with his typical sardonic attitude. "You'd think it would be common sense to cover a wound with something to avoid infection, I suppose savages lack the element though."

Calhoun, stressed enough without Edward's wry ways, requested that he put himself to work and start bandaging the tribal's wounds while he moved on to more time consuming patients.

By the end of the night, six of the eleven conscious men had died, along with three of the unconscious ones. Calhoun was fairly sure the two still unconscious men would survive along with three of the conscious men, the other two's fates were ambiguous. He wanted to examine his unconscious Followers as well, but was inhibited by the tribal.

As Calhoun used the last of the vodka to wash off his hands, he began to speak. "Ok, we've saved as many of your soldiers as we can, so can-"

His words were cut short by a swift blow to the back of the head by what felt like a hilt, no doubt from his new tribal friend. When he woke up, the group was right back where it started; tied up, though no longer bound at the hands at least.

The large tribal approached the three, and started staring predominantly at Calhoun once again. "I know how this goes." Calhoun thought to himself. Instead, the tribal dropped a bowl of the same slop that was being served to his fellows earlier before the battle at Calhoun's feet, along with a bottle of beer. The same courtesy was extended to Edward and Joshua by two shorter tribals; one even brought Edward his two new books that were confiscated earlier.

The bartering of medical services hadn't gone exactly as the group had hoped, but a more optimistic side of the situation no doubt existed since they were still alive, and now had something to appease the hunger and thirst. "You know," Edward remarked as he began to take in the odd looking soup, "most people pay their doctors after surgery."


	3. Chapter 3

-I apologize for this taking so long to finish, I've had some familial issues lately, and I'm also in school. Anyway, please keep writing reviews, any criticism helps! Oh, and in advance, how would you all feel about where to end this? I was thinking right after the First Battle of Hoover Dam, the event in question right after Hoover Dam should be obvious hopefully Sorry if you don't really like this chapter, I personally don't think it's one of my best either. And sorry I haven't figured out how to use author's notes, I'm a bit of a noob.

Chapter 3

The group was truly an exemplar of the phrase "back to square one". In the course of three hours, they'd been untied, brought to treat the tribe's wounded, and subsequently been tied up again; this whole episode was starting to feel very pointless, and the tribals' lack of interest in their guests was at an all-time high. If the tribe had any intention of ransoming them back to the Followers, they were in no hurry.

Edward, however, was less bothered than his companions at the tribe's indifference to them, and took the time to fully engross himself in his newly returned books.

Calhoun sat with an unmistakably blank look on his face, looking straight ahead at nothing in particular. He still hadn't seemed to have fully recovered from what he saw within the tent, and the fact that his fellow Followers had been beaten and used as examples was a source of particular distress for him.

Joshua took the time, as he took most of his free time, to read his bible, apparently looking for verses applicable to the current situation.

Edward was already close to finished with "The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire" before he was captured, and took the opportunity to do so fully after he'd finished his share of slop. So much time had passed in testament of the tribe's indifference to their visitors that he was even able to read Caesar's own "Commentarii" which he had briefly skimmed before their fateful encounter with the Blackfoots.

Edward was almost dumbfounded by what he read; the Roman Empire was no corrupt republic more concerned with personal gain than the well-being of its citizens, no avarice ridden Senate that wasted its time with perpetual infighting as opposed to actually planning for its own survival. Instead, it was a militarized autocracy that integrated those that it conquered, using even its enemies to its own ends.

Matters as idealistic and unrealistic as "natural rights" and "natural law" were not emphasized; instead, individual identity was not of import, that which the individual could contribute to Rome was more valued than the individual himself. It all added up to a formula for a society that provided GENUINE stability; one that would protect its citizens, the power of its dictator, and the idea of Rome itself.

It was a new feeling for Edward; long had he lived in an overly bureaucratic and quixotic government that made a vice out of expanding too quickly and spreading itself too thin, effectively inhibiting its military's ability to adequately protect its citizens.

A government that accepted bribes from the wealthy whenever it suited itself to its own citizens' detriment, a government that had no concern for the greater good, and no long term goals other than snatching up as much land as possible.

Living under the NCR's banner, Edward had been taught from an early age to venerate Presidents like Tandi and Aradesh. While the NCR may have indeed been great under the two, what it was now was unreliable, unworthy of trust, unworthy of love from its citizens.

One notable disparity between the NCR and Roman Empire was civic virtue: the idea that the citizens should cultivate habits for the good and success of the community, that they should dedicate themselves to the idea of the community itself instead of their own personal pleasure. Instead, NCR citizens were far more content throwing their money away in New Reno or the Den.

One truly remarkable thing Edward noted was the staying power of the Roman Empire; even the pre-war United States of America that the NCR attempted so much to emulate only managed to last around three hundred years thanks to the war; the Roman Empire lasted over a thousand.

Edward pondered over the idea; a culture of true steadfastness, one that could survive and thrive in any set of circumstances, it was astounding, if only the post war world could aspire to become something like that.

Edward's musings were cut short by a cacophonous clatter and crash to his front that caught his attention. A couple of Blackfoots had dropped a large weapons crate, sending the substandard yet valuable rifles clattering to the ground. Such was the state of their disrepair that several of the bolts had been pushed out of place just from the drop.

The two scurried to attempt to rectify their mistake, but it was clear they had no clue what they were doing. One thought that shoving the bolt as hard as possible back into the breech was a viable solution, while another was attempting to forcibly cock the lever on another rifle that was stuck in place.

Edward was once again disgusted by the inexpedience of the tribe, and their inability to make even the simplest of repairs and modifications; one would almost think they just stumbled on these rifles, one almost knew that they didn't come across them with owner's manuals attached.

Edward was filled to the brim with the impulse to start yelling at the two, to call them ignorant savages and tell them what was SUPPOSED to be done with the weapons as opposed to abusing them. Nonetheless, he remained silent; helping these ignoramuses with their mire hadn't exactly panned out well for the group thus far. It took another moment of watching the tribals manhandle the weapons to elicit a predictably impertinent reaction from Edward.

"Hey! Half-wits!"

The insult and obvious tone of impudence in Edward's voice was enough to catch the attention of the two, though they were still obviously confused by the yelling. Realizing yelling at them would be inane if they couldn't understand him, Edward looked to his left at Joshua.

"Tell them they're handling their weapons like buffoons; tell them… Tell them I can help fix their rifles."

Joshua looked a bit bothered by the statement, but he translated Edward's words for the tribals nonetheless. Calhoun looked more than just a bit troubled by Edward's offer, more so than he did during his period of stillness.

"Edward, if you do this…" Calhoun said in an ominous sounding tone.

"Shut up Calhoun, your job's already done, let me do mine."

The two tribals looked to each other, obviously hoping the other would take charge of the situation; most likely they feared the ramifications they would face for untying one of their prisoners. The smaller one nodded to his brother, and subsequently reached for his machete.

The tribal moved behind Edward and cut his ropes loose; Edward found humor in how much rope the tribe must have wasted on cutting loose and retying the three. After briefly rubbing his wrists, Edward moved toward the heap of rifles.

Edward snatched the bolt action rifle that the larger tribal had been toying with out of his hands, and aimed down the sight just to see if the aiming mechanism was as poorly managed as the rest of the rifle. It was generally aligned well enough; the bolt was what obviously required more attention.

"First of all, it helps if you push the lever when you're trying to shove the bolt back into the breech."

Joshua translated the simple solution for the tribals, attempting to avoid using a patronizing tone as Edward had. Before putting the bolt back in, Edward examined the condition inside of the rifle itself.

"How often do these morons clean these things? The amounts of copper and lead in this are practically pervasive. I don't suppose they know what cleaning rods are; Graham, do you have something to clean this with?"

Graham nodded his head downward towards his shirt pocket, addressing his handkerchief. Edward took it from him, dubiously eyeing it for a moment.

"Good enough, I suppose." Edward remarked as he put the handkerchief as far in the breech as he was able to in order to clean it before placing the bolt back in.

Edward tied the string around the rifle's breech to hold the bolt in place as best he could, and moved onto the rifle with the stuck in place lever.

"A shell's been jammed in it; ask them if they have something small and sharp like a switchblade to take it apart."

As Joshua made the translation, Edward looked up from his crouched position to note the bewilderment of the two tribals. Edward had been trained in standard weaponry rather well, but maintaining and repairing such basic weapons was generally common sense, yet the tribals eyed him as if he were some sort of magus.

The shorter tribal emerged from his state of bafflement and glanced to his right at one of the larger tents in the camp, suggesting that any forms of armaments not already in the hands of the tribe's warriors were to be found in this tent. He left, obviously to look for a weapon that was, as dictated, small and sharp.

The taller tribal took the moment of levity to open a bottle of whiskey to calm his obvious sense of apprehension over the uneasy situation the tribe found itself in. Calhoun took the moment to address Edward's contentious actions.

"You know you can't do this, there will be no turning back if you do this...It won't end with you just showing them how to fix their weapons, and you know it."

"I didn't come on this expedition with intentions of being tied up like an animal Calhoun, and I certainly didn't sign up to be lashed to a sinking ship. The sooner they end this war, the sooner we can leave."

"You're throwing off the balance Edward; these tribes kill, they pillage, they ransom, that's it. It's not pretty, but helping one become dominant will NOT help anything."

Edward might have listened to Calhoun's objections had he any feelings of sympathy for savages and pissants that liked to pretend they were astute in matters of war. It had just occurred to Edward that one of his guards was already gone, and the other one would not likely be in any condition to apprehend him in a few moments considering the rate at which he was consuming his whiskey, so why was he still standing around?

He was not likely to get a better chance of escape than now, and he had already made a mental map of the area in case it became an option. He wouldn't have time to free Calhoun and Graham of course, but it would be of no major impairment considering his perception of the extent of their usefulness to him thus far.

Common sense returned to him after a moment of considering the plan and he realized that, assuming he was even able to make it out of the camp passed the armed albeit inexpert warriors, he would still need to make it out of the Grand Canyon alive past any other tribes that were looking to contribute to the state of anarchy prevalent in the Canyon. For now, at least, his hands were (figuratively) tied.

The tribal returned about a minute after Edward's conclusion that any escape attempt would likely be ill fated. He brandished a large hunting knife, in contradiction to Edward's request that the makeshift screwdriver be small; the fact that the inept looking fool got the sharp aspect correct was commendable though.

The tribal moved back to rejoin his brother before tossing the hunting knife next to Edward, alarming him considering it landed about three inches from his thigh. It was an interesting thing to note though; these tribes were clearly incompetent with maintaining and using firearms, but they seemed to be able to throw knives efficiently enough.

Edward snatched the knife from its upright position in the dirt, and made sure the rifle was facing as far away from him as possible before attempting to open it near the ejection port.

He stopped to consider once again his chances of escape since his captors had just placed a weapon in his hands; the thoughts were ejected once more when he contemplated his chances of survival during the trip out of the Canyon with nothing but a hunting knife.

It was a bit difficult to work with the knife considering how far away from the rifle Edward was forced to keep his hand thanks to the clunky size of the blade; the fact that the jammed round could have gone off at him if he was careless also forced him to be especially cautious. The round sprang from the rifle after Edward opened it up, proving it to be a generally easy fix. Edward addressed the tribals as he began to put the rifle back together.

"Are there any other rifles that have different defects, or are you capable of making the rest of these repairs yourself?"

Joshua didn't even bother to make the translation since Edward's meaning was fairly obvious from his hand and eye movements. The two tribals still looked astounded at Edward's ingenuity with firearms in comparison to theirs, as if anyone who knew how to correctly use a gun was extraordinary to them.

The tribals didn't even bother to answer; the smaller one just walked off after a brief exchange with his brother, and the other began to actually use the newly imparted knowledge from Edward to start fixing the other rifles after taking the knife from him. Edward almost felt proud of his fatuous new student, more so of himself for effectively teaching the asinine tribals. Joshua addressed to Edward, who was still unrestrained.

"Calhoun does raise a point Edward, helping one of these tribes become dominant will likely cause even more violence, this land is unstable enough."

"Look, do you want to get out of here or not? If you want to go down with the ship like a good little captive you be my guest, I personally like living. Besides, these tribes could use some pacification; they run rampant like feral dogs, doing whatever they want, wouldn't it be good to end that?"

Joshua became quiet; Calhoun's objections, however, didn't end with the implication that things would somehow become propitious in Arizona if one of the tribes became dominant.

"I know you don't care about these people Edward, but-"

Calhoun's latest protestations were cut short when the other tribal returned to the group. He spoke a garble of words to his brother, who looked up from the rifle he was repairing to acknowledge the statement. The one who had just returned nodded and drew his machete. Frightened for a moment, Joshua asked the tribal what was happening, to which he received a separate jumble of grunts.

The tribal with the machete jostled and moved past Edward, who also seemed somewhat unnerved.

"Graham, what's going on? What are they doing?"

Graham raised his eyebrows, and addressed Edward with a look obviously suggesting that this new development was a result of his actions.

"They want us to meet their Chieftain now."


	4. Chapter 4

-No reviews for my last chapter? :( Well, I suppose I can function without them, but I do appreciate them, so I can only stress their importance to me by asking that you continue to write them. Enjoy :)

Chapter 4

The chieftain turned out to be the same imposing and wizened man the group saw earlier after the attack. He was addressed as "Joblo" as the tribals took care to make known to the group on the way to his tent. A strange name sure enough, Edward didn't care enough to ask what its significance was though.

His tent was certainly more lavish than the one that the group had the "privilege" of seeing firsthand, with extravagant carpets and ornaments lightening the dark atmosphere of the Grand Canyon that attempted to penetrate the tent.

As the two tribals dropped off their charges and then departed, the sere chieftain eyed the group with an unreadable expression. He sat at a worn looking desk strewn with maps and with a notable number of screws missing, resting his left hand on the surface.

His incentive for beckoning the group was already obvious, though it seemed that tiptoeing around it was still in order. Finally, Joblo got up from his chair and moved around his desk to make contact with the group.

His hands folded behind his back, he moved past Joshua and over behind Edward, who felt extremely invaded when he heard a loud sniffing sound from behind him that obviously originated from his host and was obviously directed towards him.

After moving past Edward and around Calhoun, he returned to his chair, as if his only reason to get up anymore was to acquire the scents of newcomers, or to investigate discordant noises. Edward quickly grew impatient with the chieftain's procrastination of the situation at hand in favor of inquisitive gazes.

"Graham, does he actually want something or does he just plan to stare at us?"

"This is a custom of the Grand Canyon tribes; he's observing your character."

Before Edward could make a remark he'd likely regret, the chieftain spoke his piece.

"Graham, what's he saying?"

Graham temporarily ignored him and had his own brief conversation with the chieftain before addressing Edward.

"He wants your knowledge, obviously. Tactics, weapons training, anything you have."

"And we get our freedom in exchange?"

Graham nodded, despite the fact that Edward was already deep in contemplation by the time he asked the question and would likely not note anything Graham did at the moment.

His mind returned to the uncertain, by some standards completely impractical possibility of a post war Roman Empire, one that would and could maintain genuine order. All great empires started somewhere though, his own "great" country in particular was a truly rags to riches story. There was no such thing as a chooser in post-apocalyptia after all, only beggars. Edward's eyes brightened, and he made direct contact with the Chieftain.

"If I help you survive, I want full command of your tribe, now and for the remainder of its existence."

Joshua was very reluctant to translate the hardy request, and instead looked unsurely at the ground, as if a solution lay somewhere in the carpet's trim. Simply being allowed to live and to eventually leave would have been a satisfactory deal considering what the group had experienced thus far; now, Edward felt confident enough to make an ultimatum. Calhoun, in even more attestation to his skepticism and distrust of Edward, was even more of an oppositionist to the demand than Graham was.

"Dammit Edward, what do you think you're doing?"

The question was not the least bit otiose; what genuine use could Edward have for a tribe whose way of life he was disdainful toward? Edward addressed him with an impatient look.

"It's none of your concern, you get to live and all we have to do is teach them to fight; isn't that enough?"

Calhoun was about to rebuke once more, but instead turned to Graham, expecting that he would express as much disapproval as him over the idea of such an imprudent demand. Instead, Graham steeled himself, looked up from the ground to the Chieftain, and translated Edward's brazen words.

The Chieftain's stoic facial expression didn't change in the least at the request; he merely glanced down at his desk for a moment. It did make some sense though; this was a man who, without a doubt, had seen years of infighting and famine, he didn't get to where he was without maintaining a composed exterior, despite what may have been going on inside his head.

What he also no doubt needed to take into consideration though was that his tribe was, at least at the moment, faltering under his rule. Perhaps the tribe had, at one point, prospered to an extent possible for a post-apocalyptic community. If these days existed did exist though, they were long gone. If someone who was clearly more adept than him wanted control, what could truly go wrong from it?

The tribe could already barely eat, they were on the losing side of a war, and they had no ambitions other than survival. Standing before him was an intelligent and realistic young man with many years still ahead of him, skilled and knowledgeable in the ways of war, and clearly eager to work the tribe from the bottom back to at least the middle; would he find a more ideal heir at his age?

There was, of course, the fact that Edward was no tribal; these tribes were so mired in tradition that most would no doubt take issue and stir controversy with the idea of appointing an outsider as acting Chieftain. Edward's overall competence and charismatic personality would, hopefully, overshadow this factor though.

Edward could see the conflict in the Chieftain's face, despite his efforts to keep it hidden; he must have led this tribe for years, oversaw it, tried to help feed it and protect it the best he could, loved it like a child even. On the other hand, the tribe had probably seen much better days, but even a man who can't adequately take care of his children will be hesitant to hand them over to someone who can.

Something that Edward was also forced to take into account was that, regardless of Joblo's obvious love for his tribe, this man was no weakling, no soft hearted old man; this was someone who had six men beaten senseless just to instill a hard work ethic in his prisoners. Edward wouldn't admit it openly, but he almost respected the Chieftain for the idea; he'd have to remember that concept.

With as much dignity and pride as he was able to muster at the emotive moment, Joblo stood up, his hands pressed hard against the desk for physical support, and gave a stern nod. Edward might have felt sympathy for the difficult decision the Chieftain just had to make, he was too busy evaluating what needed to be done now that he was acting leader of the tribe to even care though.

As Edward was about to bark orders to the person who he thought had just basically become his right hand man, the seemingly abased Chieftain spoke a jumble of words, in a tone clearly establishing that he meant business, and that he was still feeling very dominant. The newfound self-assuredness of the Chieftain served to be slightly troubling to Edward, who pressed Joshua for a translation.

"Graham, what's he saying? He sounds a bit too…assertive for someone who just relinquished power."

"He wants you to attain a victory against his enemies first before you take charge, to further prove your ability and competence in leadership."

The idea certainly didn't please Edward; he had already proven that he knew more about the tribe's weapons than each of them combined, and they wanted him to personally lead them to military victory as well? The Chieftain's continued confidence in his rule was an obstacle to Edward's plans; he would have to make some significant amendments for them to still be viable.

Regardless, the irritated Edward gave an obligatory nod to confirm that the proposition was acceptable, but only after rolling his eyes in insolence. He looked to Graham once more, his aggravation still prevalent all over his face.

"Ask him what the entire situation is."

Edward's deduction slightly before the attack turned out to be completely correct; the tribe was indeed incapable of hunting that which they typically sustained themselves on, and they thought they could ransom the group for caps to fund their war against their enemy.

What Edward hadn't realized, however, was that they weren't just playing war with one tribe; they were fighting against seven. They certainly weren't more focused or organized than the Blackfoots, but combined they outnumbered the tribe fivefold, and Edward had already seen that they had weaponry capable of outmatching their rifles.

It was certainly a quagmire; Edward's plan would have been fulfilled much quicker had he only had to conquer one tribe. Regardless, the situation wasn't irremediable, just not even close to effortless. He had confidence in his knowledge, his intellect, and his charisma, and he knew from his studies that fortune frequently favored the bold.

After the situation was fully explained, the Chieftain was obviously expecting a solution or plan from Edward, as indicated by his folded hands and steady gaze. Edward already had plans in his head, but only chose to give a brief description.

"I'll train your men the best I can, and I'll need to see you in action so I can evaluate your strengths and weaknesses, I didn't directly see the last battle. I also need a brief description of each of the tribes, weakest and strongest."

The three most immediate tribes in the area near the Blackfoot Camp were the Ridgers, the Kaibabs, and the Fredonians, their overall strength increased in that order. From what the Blackfoots scouts gathered, the three maintained a sort of trading relationship; the Ridgers provided vegetation, meat, and water, the Kaibabs provided medicine, mostly derived from herbs and plants in the area, and the Fredonians provided weaponry and ammunition, where they got a steady source of ammunition and weapons was currently unknown.

Considering the fact that these other tribes had access to these things but were still as backward as the Blackfoots, Edward gained a meager amount of respect for the tribe, even if their survival was just by the skin of their teeth at this point. Edward could already see that the Blackfoots were more efficient scouts than fighters; this could be advantageous if played correctly.

He also learned the attacks came routinely around every five hours, but they typically subsided for a time every four or so raids so the other tribes could rest and rearm. The fact that the attacks came so periodically and predictably almost implied that the other tribes were toying with the Blackfoots at this point. The group that attacked the last time was most likely the Fredonians, as indicated by their superior weaponry and general efficiency with them. Edward's respect for the tribe dropped once more when he was told there were only two of them, the fact that they also carried Light Machine Guns was irrelevant to him.

The group was captured six hours ago, the attack came a bit over four and a half hours ago, so Edward was fortunate enough to not be forced to stand around waiting to observe the tribe's combat abilities firsthand, he would get a demonstration soon enough. There would be no time to train the tribe's warriors in between to put up an actual fight, but seeing their raw combat abilities would grant him further insight into the situation.

Edward, Graham, Calhoun, Joblo and his bodyguard all proceeded up a small path near the back of the camp. The camp itself was nestled into the Canyon with nothing to its back and sides but mountain. Its location was a benefit and a drawback; it was a defensible enough location that offered only one way for attackers to come, but it also offered no way out for the Blackfoots if the camp was overrun.

The camp almost looked beautiful being bathed in pale moonlight reflecting off of torches that illuminated the camp throughout the night; the ostensible beauty was undermined by inexperienced tribals scurrying about preparing for battle though.

Edward knew the tribals weren't necessarily adept at combat, but the fact that the path offered an unblocked view of the only entrance should have automatically implied an opportunity for snipers. Edward watched as the tribals began to mass near the entrance in anticipation of the attack, their first mistake was standing out practically in the open; they could have crouched or gone prone to improve accuracy and decrease their enemy's. Instead, they just leaned against the opening in their fence, making no effort to obscure themselves. Edward thought to mention this, but the attack was likely to come any moment, they started to come with greater frequency according to Joblo.

Dawn was approaching; Edward only just realized how tired he was, when did these people get sleep? No doubt most of them were forced to be perpetually awake to do their jobs, but one of their greatest detriments at this point may have simply been exhaustion, which was fixable enough.

The group reached the apex of the path, and prepared to oversee the soon to come battle. Joblo's bodyguard, who was also the same tribal who escorted the group to the medical tent, handed Edward a pair of binoculars to better supervise the preparations. He already saw what he needed to see, but they would be useful for when the battle actually began. Joblo was keeping an eye on Edward, and a hand on his 9mm pistol. Joblo saw blind and youthful ambition in his eyes the moment he met him; such drive often allowed for unpredictable actions.

Soon after reaching the summit, gunshots rang throughout the camp once more; the group was far enough away to be safe from the fighting, but automatic weapon fire once again tore through the tribe's warriors at the entrance. Edward looked through his newly acquired binoculars and saw that the attack force consisted of, from what he could see, four men with assault rifles, all taking cover by sturdy trees that lined the path to the camp gates.

These trees that were providing cover for their enemies could have been removed somehow, certainly with less inconvenience than the casualties that they were forced to endure over them. Was this truly an unviable solution from the tribe's perspective?

Several of the Blackfoot warriors had enough sense to know that remaining at the entrance would make them open targets, but their reaction of attempting to rush outside the camp to meet their attackers head on was particularly asinine and was met with hasty death for at least one more of their warriors.

The attack eventually subsided, and the four attackers were killed, but Edward counted more four dead and four wounded among the warriors. The only intelligent move he'd seen the Blackfoots make so far was going to retrieve their enemies' weapons and ammo after the battle, other than that their performance was subpar.

This was a distressing situation, they were losing vital warriors by the day and had no way to replace them; not everyone in the tribe was capable of being a fighter, after all. Regardless, it was also a situation that required Edward to be focused and rejuvenated, both of which he was far from at the moment.

Demandingly, Edward's first words after the battle were "I need sleep."

Graham translated Edward's demand, in response to which the Chieftain looked quizzically at Edward, obviously of the opinion that his tribe's survival was of far more importance at the moment than creature comforts.

"You've kept us up all night, what do you expect? I need to be focused and rested if I'm going to help train your so called "warriors", and I'm not focused and rested right now. That was the last raid in the cycle, right? That means you have about another day until the next one. Once I'm ready your warriors will be so adept they'll make your enemies turn tail and run every time they see you, but right now, .SLEEP."

The Chieftain relented after some slight persuasion, and directed his bodyguard to assign them each tents. Before going with the hulking tribal, Edward recalled that Calhoun hadn't said anything since far before the battle, and made forced conversation to confirm his loyalties.

"I know you don't like what's happening here, I'm not forcing you to stay if you think you can get out of the Canyon on your own."

The undertone of condescension in the statement was unnecessary, as Calhoun already hadn't planned on leaving any time soon anyway.

"I'm not going to leave our fellow Followers in a state like that, and I'm sure these plans of yours will get more people hurt. I can do some good here, what you choose to do is out of my hands I suppose."

Of course, Calhoun was correct. There was no talking Edward out of something when he had it in his head that he would do it. Edward was actually pleased that he was remaining on hand since people would, of course, continue to be wounded, and his medical expertise would be instrumental in maintaining the tribe's numbers.

Joshua was set up in one of the tents near the central area of the camp. It wasn't competition to the extravagance of the Chieftain's tent, of course, but it was better than being tied up. He briefly considered simply leaving, but there would no doubt be guards on the gates. Instead, he continued to search for guidance in his Bible.

Graham suddenly heard something shuffling about outside of his tent, and felt himself becoming very alarmed, as if one of the tribes had infiltrated the camp and began to systematically murder the Blackfoots in their sleep. His apprehension was put to ease when he heard a voice say "Graham". After all, there could only be one person who was bold enough to continually address a person by his last name, especially without even knowing him very well.

A slightly refreshed looking Edward moved into the tent after announcing himself, and sat down in a chair to the right of Graham's bed.

"Hello Edward. Not completely exhausted, it seems."

"Yes, well, I felt that we should talk about the situation. First off, I wanted to apologize for the way I've treated you so far, you've been nothing but useful to me. I'm aware that I can be…overbearing."

"Overbearing" was certainly an understatement, but it was commendable that Edward was able to scrounge up enough humility to apologize for his flippancy. Then again, he also made it about himself when he started talking about the extent of Joshua's usefulness to him.

"I hate the sin and love the sinner, Edward; I hold no grudge against you. Was there something else that you wanted?"

The question was asked perfunctorily, since Edward obviously wasn't just here out of the kindness of his heart.

"Yes, there was…something that I wanted to discuss."

Edward reflected for a moment, most likely thinking up a way to organize his thoughts in a presentable way that Graham could sympathize with.

"These tribes…they're so stunted, so unfocused, senselessly violent. All they want to do is raid; kill each other, no long term goals, no higher purpose."

Graham couldn't deny the validity of the statement, but Edward's intentions with it were uncertain to him.

"I heard your story that you told Calhoun, I know that you've seen firsthand what happens when people are destitute, and here we are witnessing it once more."

There it was; it's how he would cajole Graham into seeing things from his perspective. Graham hated that it was working.

"Now what if that could be changed? What if there was a way to pacify these tribes? To provide for them and protect them in exchange for nothing but hard work and loyalty?"

Graham's interest was piqued ever so slightly, but Edward was still being very vague.

"I won't lie, it wouldn't be pretty for a while, in fact it would most likely be worse than what's happening now. You don't have to do anything right now; I'd just like your attention."

If nothing else, Edward could be very persuasive and charming when he wanted something from someone. Graham couldn't deny that he agreed with most of what he said, but he was also implying that more violence was necessary to pacify the current violence. It wouldn't be something that his family or his religion would look kindly upon, but that didn't make it automatically incorrect. He wasn't certain yet of what he'd do, but it couldn't be truly harmful just to hear him out.

"Very well, I'm listening."


	5. Chapter 5

-Apologies for not updating this last week since the first two week break was likely annoying enough. I was actually working on another story; I plan to update these in intervals, meaning one one week and one the other. I'd appreciate if you check my other one out and review if you have yet to do so :) I wish I could upload these with more consistency since I know it must be annoying not knowing when they're coming out, but some just take me longer than others, sorry :( Things should start to get interesting soon, hope you enjoy!

Chapter 5

Edward didn't end up awakening until about noon, but he felt fully rejuvenated and ready to set his plans into action. Calhoun and Graham were already awake; Calhoun went almost directly to the medical tent of his own accord, the new batch of wounded and dying would no doubt keep him busy for the rest of the day, and most likely he'd further insist that he be allowed to treat or at least examine his fellow Followers. He brought a large amount of medical supplies on the expedition, but they were being sucked up at a rapid rate as a result of this particular venture.

Graham was brought straight to Joblo's tent since he had nothing else to do, and was pressed for additional details about his fellow travelers; most likely, simply attaining Edward's scent from yesterday didn't tell Joblo a large amount about the man.

Edward didn't actually want to get out of bed just yet; it was likely even hotter outside the tent than inside it, something that Edward couldn't stand about the Southwest. He ran his hands through his short yet coarse hair, wiping sweat from his brow at the same time. If there truly was a God as Graham claimed, he had a marvelous sense of humor in regards to the climate he imposed on His children.

Nonetheless, Edward steeled himself and got dressed, fighting past the sweat as best he could. As anticipated, he confirmed after stepping out of the tent that it was a hot day in Arizona. Even more so than usual apparently, as indicated by one of the tribals looking to the sky and chanting pretentiously, implying that he wanted something tangible from it like rain.

If nothing else, the Blackfoots had consistency. Most of the tribals that Edward remembered from yesterday were performing the exact same tasks, though they seemed even more rushed in doing them, as if some emperor was planned to arrive for an inspection soon.

Edward chuckled; if any sort of emperor, post-apocalyptic or not, arrived at this place for an inspection, he'd be very disappointed, or he might just think that he was having a mean spirited joke played on him.

Edward spotted Joblo and Graham about fifteen meters away outside of the chieftain's tent, Joblo boldly asking questions, Graham dutifully answering them as best he could. Edward thought nothing of impatiently striding towards the two, as if they should have been placed outside of his tent the moment he woke up so he wouldn't have to walk far; he thought even less of interrupting Joblo mid question.

Edward suspected that his impudence might have had consequences, so he took care to speak in the Blackfoot dialect when addressing the chieftain, as if simply speaking to someone in their native tongue would erase any discrepancies. Joblo did, however, seem mildly impressed, as Graham seemed mildly surprised.

"I've picked up on some of what you've been saying to them, I don't like the language but I'll speak it if it helps." Edward explained.

Edward looked around the camp, as if he had just seen it for the first time and needed to get his bearings. He seemed to be looking for something, or he might have expected something to be presented to him by this point. He sighed and started presenting his request in the Blackfoot dialect. Halfway through, however, Edward had hit a rut, and obviously didn't know how to articulately translate his request.

He was visually embarrassed and irritated at the same time, but managed to arduously swallow his pride and rely once more on the Mormon to translate his words.

"Tell him that we need an open place so I can train his men, and we need bottles, cans, anything that they don't need that we can use for target practice. And obviously we need their guns and ammo so I can show them how to use them effectively. And most importantly we need their men, if he were serious about this he would have had them assembled already."

Common sense dictated that Joshua leave out the last part; Edward's ego was tangible enough without him making haughty remarks on his behalf. Joshua still had mixed feelings regarding Edward, especially after their surprisingly meaningful discussion last night; he was arrogant, he most likely cared more about advancing himself as opposed to protecting people despite his ostensibly idealistic words.

On the other hand, he was intelligent, surprisingly sensible, charismatic, and he knew how to use these things to their apexes. Would he make a capable leader, or would he be one more testament to the historic trend of greed and self-service that eventually brought down even the most apparently incorruptible men?

The Blackfoots had something of a (albeit reasonable) phobia in regards to leaving their camp, but were able to overcome it at Edward's behest since training a fighting force inside a camp full of people would have been rather daft.

There was a medium sized clearing at the bottom of the hill that led up to the Blackfoot camp, and several natural rock formations provided a reasonable means for target practice. With as many cans and bottles as they could carry, the Blackfoot warriors set to work creating their ersatz target range.

Edward wiped sweat from his brow once more, cursing the hot climate under his breath. If there truly was an afterlife, grand old Julius must have been having a very good laugh in the face of Edward's travail at the moment; certainly he never had to suffer the indignities that Edward had suffered just in the last day while making his empire.

Of course, Caesar was also born into the elite of society; Edward's family, his mother in particular, had to work for what they had. Even then they didn't have much; the Followers provided a suitable standard of living, though one could hardly compare it with that of the Patricians. In fact, the term "living" was also debatable; "existing" would have been more suitable.

Edward reflected on his time with the Followers, and what good it had actually done him. He prided himself in being significantly more educated than most in the wastes, and his present company further conveyed how much of a erudite he was by comparison.

Their exceptional learnedness regarding a wide array of matters was just about all that Edward had to say of the Followers that was complimentary. Otherwise, he considered them to be embodiments of naiveté, excessive idealism, and quasi anarchism.

Their only long term goal, from Edward's perspective, seemed to be educating every junkie and squatter that happened to stumble into their universities because he was either starving or too dissolute to know what he was doing. What would it all accomplish in the long run?

Slum dwellers didn't need to know Newton's Laws of Motion, they needed to know how to survive in the wasteland; the Followers dedicated themselves to an idea that wasn't just going to be magically revived one day, they failed to see that their values had a place only in the old world.

For all their lack of judiciousness, Edward couldn't deny that his Followers roots would soon serve a practical end; he would know nothing about firearms or tactics had it not been for them, and such elements were naturally key in the construction of any society that originated in conflict.

Of course, many years from now he'd most likely deny that the Followers were expedient to him in any degree, most likely to some young and unseasoned agent of his; Edward's vanity precluded him in nearly all instances from giving large portions of credit to anyone but himself.

Being so deep in thought, Edward hadn't even noticed until Joshua called his name that the makeshift firing range was already complete; the only one continuing to postpone his plans was, ironically, him.

He eyed the so called warriors precariously and thoroughly for a moment; their inadequacy as fighters at the moment was not in question, but could they be melded into true warriors utilizing Edward's knowledge?

Edward would deny it later if pressed, but he was actually a bit excited that he was about to undertake his first step in building his empire, a bit like a proud father who was about to see his child take its first steps.

Swallowing his feeling of mild elation, Edward stepped forward towards the scattered warriors and the lingering Chieftain that stood beside Joshua.

"It will help if I can see firsthand how your men's accuracy is; let's say, from thirty feet at first."

Joshua translated for the Chieftain, who in turn translated louder for his men. In compliance, the warriors clumsily raised their rifles and stepped back to an appropriate distance. Many even bumped into each other as the disorganized muddle continued to move backward.

It took most of Edward's willpower not to prematurely call them out and insult them for their foolishness; instead, he waited patiently to see their genuine performance. Of course, as was expected, it was shoddy.

Edward had a feeling of fleeting and mild hope after seeing a few bottles shatter in the first barrage of shots, but was further convinced of just how much work was cut out for him when one of the warriors actually managed to shoot one of his fellows in the thigh. The unfortunate tribal fell to the ground, writhing in pain. A cacophony of yells and arguments ensued amongst the warriors; all Edward could do at the moment was roll his eyes contemptuously. He didn't have time for this, and neither did they.

"Enough!"

Edward yelled it loud enough to supersede the other yelling. After all, the tone of anger and arrogance translated easily into all languages. Silence ensued, and Edward let out a long sigh and placed his hands on his waist in aggravation.

Edward needed to close his eyes and breathe deeply through his mouth to avoid saying something that he might regret. After about ten seconds of regaining composure, he addressed Graham in a simultaneously irritated and temperate tone.

"Get him up to the medical tent; I have no time to deal with this."

The course of action was implied and logical, but Edward obviously still felt the need to be in control of the situation. Graham complied and translated the obvious demand, which the tribals servilely, possibly even fearfully, performed.

Edward looked over his second-rate army once again, and contemplated appropriate responses to what he just saw. Edward glanced briefly at Graham, indicating that his translating would soon be necessary.

"I have been brought here to try and save all of you from your enemies, not to save you from each other. Shooting each other is obviously not going to help, but neither will quarreling. Now, I'll be curt; if you do what I tell you exactly when I tell you to do it, you'll be just fine. In fact, you'll be a part of possibly the biggest thing from before the Great War. Is this what you want, or do you like the situation you're in now? Do you like the fact that your people are being killed practically periodically? If not, I suggest you pay attention, because I plan on going through this only once."

Edward grabbed a bolt action rifle from a young looking tribal, who was still too much in fear over Edward's domineering monologue to react as one might normally react. He then began to appropriately handle the rifle, narrating proper gun management at the same time.

"There's a lever on the left side of this piece here, called the bolt. Lift it and then pull the bolt out to clean it. Handkerchiefs, tissues, cloth, anything you have that's relatively clean will have to do. Lift the lever to place it back in. Now, firing. Wrap your dominant ha-…the hand that you feel is stronger, around the grip, and keep your index fi-…"

Edward stopped his explanation and sighed in irritation, annoyed at the fact that these terms that were generally considered common sense proved so difficult for tribes who claimed to have ingenuity to understand.

"The finger that you point with, keep it outside the trigger guard. Cradle the front of the gun with your other hand, but don't touch the barrel. Hold it firmly, and then place your finger back inside the trigger guard. Line up the two posts close to the bolt with the one at the end of the barrel. Next, take in a breath, then let most of it out. At that point, hold it, then squeeze the trigger; don't pull it, like so."

With the discreetly boastful statement, Edward pulled off a perfect shot straight through the center of one of the bottle's neck, sending pieces in all directions. Edward wouldn't directly commend them for it, but the tribals were actually capable of learning quickly once someone who was qualified enough to be considered a teacher presented himself.

The tribals followed the meticulous explanation and, after a few glanced over at some of the more competent warriors to confirm that they were correctly handling the weapons correctly, even managed to start pulling off a few accurate shots. Training with other weaponry such as pistols and lever action rifles followed, but the bolt actions were the most common, and the ones that the tribals seemed most adept with.

Edward was about to let a grin slip in pride, but caught himself early enough; they didn't need to be encouraged, they needed to learn how to fight, not just play with bottles.

"Right, first part, and easiest part, is over. Shooting open, immobile, and non-hostile targets is one thing; if you want to fight a war, you need to learn to operate with small unit tactics."

Edward set up an empty can of beans near the southern end of the clearing, making sure to place it behind a rock so it wouldn't be easy to kill or capture the high value target. He also indicated to the carriers of the useful trash that more bottles needed to be set up for the next lesson. Edward explained the significance of the can.

"This seemingly harmless can of beans is actually the leader of the Fredonians; if you want to scare them into submission, you need to kill or capture him. Thing is, he's well-guarded; he has guards to his front, on the left and right sides. What do you do?"

The critical thinking portion of the test proved a bit more difficult for the warriors; leaving them to their own devices was a borderline recipe for disaster. One particularly burly tribal took charge over the others, and placed several of the warriors behind rocks to provide covering fire for the attack. Edward was impressed with the warrior's initiative, less so with his tactical resourcefulness. Leaving warriors behind to provide covering fire was a decent enough move, albeit logical and commonly sensible. His next move, however, proved that he was just as inept as the average Blackfoot.

Instead of exploring other viable options, the tribal took an attack force straight up the middle, right in the sights of the "defenders" and in the line of fire coming from his fellow Blackfoots; such a move in less spurious combat would be met with quick pulverization. Edward loudly halted the plan immediately; he didn't need to lose another warrior due to friendly fire. An anticipated admonishment from Edward followed.

"A more optimistic criticism would probably be something along the lines of "Oh, you didn't fail, you just found a way how not to do combat." To be perfectly frank, you just failed. I could also encourage creative thought among you, asking you to reflect on exactly WHAT you did wrong; to be curt once more though, I have no time, and neither do you. So, here comes the very complicated explanation that only true geniuses can fathom; you do NOT run up the middle to be shot either by the enemy or your friends."

Edward looked over at another semi competent looking Blackfoot, who seemed almost aware that Edward was bound to have a task for him.

"I want you to take a small force up the left here, while the brilliant general who led the last assault provides cover fire with the rest of the force. Keep moving, take shots only if you can, and capture the objective."

The alleged "general" looked embarrassed, obviously witty enough to be capable of detecting tones of sarcasm. He grudgingly remained behind while the other tribal flanked left with his force, and the war game continued. The flanking maneuver was surprisingly successful and well executed; the hostile cans and bottles barely got a shot off before their Chieftain was executed. Training in defense and other tactical areas followed, which the Blackfoots picked up on fast. This time, Edward allowed himself to grin.

"Divide et impera." Edward muttered to himself.

After taking a decent amount of time to review the day's lessons with the tribals, Edward stopped to admire his achievements. Tactics, weapons training, Edward finally had a relatively competent fighting force, and all in under five hours. They still had a foible though; their weapons, for all the stripping and cleaning that the tribe now knew how to perform, were still in poor condition; they weren't likely to last against Light machine guns on their own. Then, Edward had an idea. Addressing one of the trash carriers, Edward made a request that would, by extension, grant the Blackfoots an edge.

"Run back up to the camp, I know you have alcohol lying about; bring all of it that you can. And I've seen some of you smoking, so you must have lighters, right? Bring those to. And rags, we need rags, or anything similar."

The tribal looked at Edward as if he were deluded, but complied and took a couple of the other carriers with him back up to the camp. The tribals soon returned with several other carriers in tow for the tall order; not even Graham, who was not even close to being an ignoramus, knew what Edward was planning. The multiple bottles, rags, and lighters were incautiously dropped off at Edward's feet, and further impartment of his knowledge was made to the tribals as he began to create his prototype game changer.

"It's simple; first, you soak the rag with some of the alcohol, then stuff it inside of the bottle. Light the rag on fire, and then…"

Edward threw the bottle after motioning a few of the tribals to move out of the way. It shattered, and created a rather large fireball. Several of the tribals gasped, including Joblo himself. Assuming that they weren't previously under the impression that Edward was some kind of magician they were now. Of course, in comparison to their isolated lifestyle, he may have actually been a god. Edward, naturally, had to make a condescending remark.

"The fire hurts people, in case you didn't know."

The remark was hardly taken into account by any of the tribals, and production of the deadly cocktails soon took place, followed by field testing. As trivial as it may have seemed at the time, he didn't have a name for the newly ameliorated army that was soon to be unimpeachably his. Since the idea of Rome had already done so much for him though, was there truly anything else that he could call it?

"My Legion."


	6. Chapter 6

-Pretty self-explanatory, the Blackfoots finally start kicking ass :) I'm not sure how much is left, but I wouldn't expect more than five or so chapters after this. So, we're halfway there! Not really sure how to feel about that since I've enjoyed writing this, but I also get the impression that the quality of my writing is deteriorating, as indicated by my lack of reviews for the last chapter, so maybe it's for the best. That said, please continue to write reviews! I look at all of them, I assure you. Sorry if this feels a bit short, I feel it ends appropriately and I didn't really have a lot of fillers in mind. There are certain religious themes present in this, I'm sorry if the way I present them offends anyone, obviously it's in regards to Graham. Sorry I didn't update this at my "regular" time; holidays sure do keep you busy. Well, Happy New Years, Happy Holidays, and Happy reading :)

Chapter 6

In contrast to the scorching weather that Arizona was typically subject to, it was now raining and thundering heavily near the Blackfoot Camp, proving the area to be a foreboding environment under the right circumstances. Not for the Blackfoots though; au contraire, for their enemies. For beneath the darkness permeating the Blackfoot camp laid not an inept army struggling just for survival, but a fearsome fighting force the likes of which Arizona had not seen since before the war.

Edward wasn't permitted to take a direct part in the soon to come battle given the continued extent of his value to the tribe, and was once more forced to observe from the peak of the path behind the camp with Joblo, his bodyguard, and Graham. It was still reasonable, of course; his plans precluded him from taking unnecessary risks. Calhoun remained inside the medical tent, constantly sighing to himself in silent disapproval of Edward's borderline megalomaniacal plans as he treated his charges.

For the first time during Edward's visit to the camp, there were no noncombatants moving around the camp's atriums (they had all been moved as far to the back of the camp as possible for their own safety). In fact, to the naked and imperceptive eye, there was nothing strewn about the camp at all save for tents, trash, and copious amounts of darkly colored leaves shed from the trees bordering the camp.

If the other tribes maintained their periodical attack schedules, which was likely, the next assault would come within the next hour. Edward vicariously envisioned the attack force moving toward the camp; no doubt they'd expect to claim another victory ("victory" for the tribes having the meaning of, at the very least, dying while inflicting heavier casualties than those that they were suffering), and would take the moment of levity on the way to their destination to chug some whiskey or tell a few tribal exclusive jokes only capable of being understood and appreciated by the secluded clans.

The ostensible apathy of the tribals regarding their wellbeings was almost unreal to Edward; of course, it was also further testament to their backwardness and lack of purpose that they would so readily toss their lives away in aimless wars.

That said, their willingness to die in the hopes of destroying enemies of their tribe also bordered on extraordinary; this readiness may have rung hollow since it was only in the face of goalless wars at the moment, but properly utilized, Edward knew this was something that could prove expedient, especially in his empire's precocious stage.

Soon, there was an indistinguishable but noticeable blur coming up the hill, still about a mile away; whatever it really was was beyond Edward's eyesight. Hastily grabbing the binoculars from Graham and crouching down, Edward saw what could easily be deduced as the blur; an attack force, ten men, assault rifles and archetypal crudely assembled tribal armor in tow, moving up the hill at a slow, albeit steady pace.

Edward always pictured the aura of the military (or any fighting force for that matter) prior to combat engagements to be incredibly stressful, with gruff and desiccated old officers shouting orders through megaphones and young soldiers piling into trenches, anxiously waiting to meet whatever fate was intended for them.

Instead, silence pervaded the camp and its Cliffside, more of a sinister one than a serene one. In even greater contrast to combat stereotypes, Edward didn't have a care in the world; he knew that, even on his worst day, he could not be outwitted by tribals on their best days. Of course, a newly reformed fighting force to reinforce his intellect could hardly be considered a detriment.

Before long, the attack force had ascended the hill, taking care to crouch as they came within clear view of the camp. There was a distinguishable note of confusion among the group though, obviously because things weren't going according to plan so far. There should have been Blackfoots scurrying about, especially warriors; it didn't make sense that the situation would be otherwise.

A couple of the warriors started to take cover by the trees, but were reprimanded by their apparent leader since it was a superfluous action; there was no defense force within the camp to take cover from.

The warriors remained crouched, one of them speaking inaudibly to his commander. Behind the visible tone of annoyance that the commander was currently conveying, his true feelings could be observed; confusion, uncertainty, fear. If there was one thing that these tribes had an inherent aversion to, it was change in any way, shape, or form. The fact that for possibly the hundredth attack against this same camp there was no longer a visible fighting force set a tone that could be described only as ominous.

Of course, the tribal did what any confused and curious person would, regardless of community affiliation; he started to move into the camp's grounds, for possibly the first time in his tribe's history, signaling his men to follow when he was close enough to the gates.

One would almost think that the tribal thought the place was cursed; he moved as if he were entering the gates of the Underworld, cautiously checking every corner and blind spot as if Death itself was present.

There were a few more warriors than Edward had previously anticipated since the attack forces typically numbered no more than five or so. For whatever reason, their combat enthusiasm must have been revitalized, resulting in a newfound eagerness to wipe out the Blackfoots quickly, certainly quicker than before. Their numbers were sadly irrelevant though, they had already played right into his hands. They were already dead; they just didn't know it yet.

Wading past the highly prevalent leaves and trash strewn about the paths of the camp, the tribe continued its investigation, meticulously looking inside every tent. They were all empty; not even inhabited by women or children, let alone warriors or other men, just empty. Edward's heart started to race; more a result of excitement as opposed to fear or anxiety, for a trap of his own design was about to be sprung.

The tribals came to a tent that emanated an odor that could only be accurately described as foul, though that might have been an understatement. There appeared to be something dried on the walls inside of it, possibly blood. The leader moved toward its flap as if he expected that the entirety of the tribe's fighting force would be inside this shanty tent, as if it was left only to him to face them all with just an assault rifle.

Alas, there was nothing threatening to him inside of the tent; just a timid looking man with blood on his clothes, treating men who were obviously in his medical care. The tribal, regardless of being aware simply by looking at this man that no threat was posed to him, didn't lower his rifle from the man's back. But, he was surprised at what he saw; how had the Blackfoots managed to procure a shaman?

His tribal fellows flanking him, the leader clicked his tongue to inform the shaman that he had guests. As the man turned around, he seemed more slightly caught off guard as opposed to genuinely surprised or frightened; was he somehow expecting this?

Calhoun briefly wiped the blood off of his hands with a rag, and tossed it aside to meet the tribal's eyes. Calhoun couldn't deny that he pitied him, as well as the rest of the tribals; they may have been in an inane war, but they didn't deserve what Edward had wrought. He let out a sigh, and rubbed his forehead.

The tribal still seemed confused; shouldn't this man have been more intimidated? He certainly didn't look particularly imposing or robust, what did he have that could counter an assault rifle?

Calhoun knew what happened next was out of his control, and the events that would soon follow it even more so. All he could do was make known, or try to make known, his feelings of disapproval regarding them, regardless of their irrelevance.

"I'm sorry." Calhoun said sympathetically.

The seemingly misplaced apology was followed by a very loud shuffling of leaves and clattering of bottles; there were still others inside the camp, and the tribals had just been lulled into false security, leaving themselves completely open from their flank.

The leader may not have been educated, but he was no fool; he knew they were open to attack from whoever was still inside the camp, and he pushed his way out of the tent past his men as swiftly as he could, hoping to find cover fast enough.

It was in vain; he pushed his way out just in time to see dozens of warriors emerging from beneath the thousands of leaves and trash articles littered about the camp's atrium, readying their weapons for combat. These items weren't just randomly strewn about the camp because the tribe was too lax to keep a clean living space; they were used as cover, as a disguise, to hide in plain sight, to catch their enemy off guard. Leaving the tent was an even worse decision, now the tribals were open to assault from all directions.

However, the leader intelligently deduced that he had an advantage; any erratic firing in his general direction placed the shaman at risk, could the Blackfoots risk it? Sure enough, there was a standoff; the tribal's men readied their weapons as well, but for obvious reasons didn't open fire.

The stalemate continued for the next thirty seconds or so, until the leader fearfully started to speak. He was starting to request surrender terms, and also suggested that he simply just leave without entertaining the idea of bloodshed. Of course, he knew that neither option was tenable, not now.

Before he could speak further, a well-placed bullet fired from the ridge behind the camp tore into his second in command's skull, killing him instantly and sending bone and brain fragments everywhere. Though the leader was still in denial and shouting requests of peace or imprisonment, his men knew something he seemingly didn't; there would be no more prisoners in this war, no more periodical attacks, no more playing at war; it was total war.

The tribals reflexively fired at the warriors in front of them as they started to take cover, hoping that the shaman behind them would act as deterrence for any returning fire; of course, it didn't matter now. The snipers on the ridge picked off one more tribal, and another was shot through the leg. There was nothing left for the unlucky leader; running would just make him an open target for the fighting force right in front of him that was currently being passive, staying still would result in the skilled marksman killing him soon, there was no cover nearby; there was truly nothing for him.

Out of options, the tribal did all that he had left to do; he dropped his weapon, knelt down, and started to pray, even as bullets whizzed past him and into his comrades. His mind was a flight of ideas; he prayed for his children, he prayed for his wife, he prayed for his gods to look kindly upon the life that he had lived, he prayed for salvation. Most of all though, he prayed for his tribe in general; they would soon have to face the wrath of what he was now witnessing, and it wasn't likely to be any less frightening once fate finally caught up with them.

His thoughts came to a surcease as a bullet went through his heart, bringing him a (comparatively) peaceful end as he and the rest of his men dropped dead to the ground. Up on the ridge, Edward was practically manic in his glee; he saw no casualties, he saw dead enemies, and he saw Joblo was impressed; what was their not to be pleased about?

Edward thought of how to broach the touchy subject of investiture with the Chieftain, but intelligently decided to wait; he'd been patient for this long, he could be so for another five minutes. As Joblo, his bodyguard, Graham and Edward descended back into the camp, the Blackfoots took the chance to loot the bodies for valuables, and found some whiskey which they soon began to utilize for revelry.

Calhoun leaned against the medical tent in sadness, his heart broken now that a tribe that (generally) never bothered anyone and only defended itself when attacked had been turned into a well-oiled war machine. Shaking his head and looking angrily at Edward (who paid him no mind), Calhoun returned to the only task he had left; mitigating damage as much as possible.

Once the group had descended into the atrium, Edward truly started to appreciate his accomplishment, (even though he already appreciated most things about himself, his accomplishments especially). The tribals never had a chance; they walked right into the trap, now they were dead, and now to the victors were going the spoils; a more agreeable outcome could not reasonably be hoped for.

Joblo, now without any genuine reason to further postpone the transfer of power (his personal feelings notwithstanding), drew his pistol and handed it to Edward, the grip facing away from him. He spoke his last words as Chieftain, in what were the first English words Edward heard him speak.

"Tribe has suffered under me, wise one; will prosper under you. Lead to more victory, away from past."

A lone tear rolled down Joblo's cheek, indicating that the surrender of his tribe's fate to another was (appropriately) poignant. Edward, however, couldn't have felt better about the situation. He had previously anticipated that Joblo would be slightly more stubborn in surrendering his power, with him being an outsider and him being a native born Chieftain; apparently the success of the battle dispelled any such qualms.

Edward had finally done it; he had to hold back a grin for possibly the hundredth time since arriving at the camp. After all the appeasement, all the service, all the tolerance, he'd done it; he had control of a tribe, he had his Legion. Power waited right in front of him, all he had to do was take it.

"Thank you." Edward said as he reached in to take the pistol by its grip.

A gunshot rang throughout the camp, unmistakably discharged from a 9mm pistol. Calhoun flinched as he started to apply bandages to one of his patients, but otherwise did nothing; after all, he knew it would happen. Not because anyone told him directly, it was simply a logical outcome. Could he really have maintained power with someone else around who may have still been vying for it?

Outside, before a tribe still in shock, a man lay on the ground, bleeding, grasping at the wound in his abdomen; it was Joblo. He, like Calhoun, almost knew it would happen; could Edward truly be expected to tolerate possibly the only other person around who was intelligent enough to rule the tribe? Regardless, looking up at Edward's barrel, Joblo didn't seem scared. The wound didn't actually seem to hurt him that much, he seemed almost at peace. Perhaps the knowledge that, even in his death, his tribe would survive was enough to bring contentment to him in his final moments.

Edward placed one more bullet through his chest, ending Joblo's long life. Edward looked up at his tribe after discharging the bullet; they still seemed confused, especially Joblo's former bodyguard. Regardless, they wouldn't kill him now; surrendering a weapon to someone was a universally recognized sign of submission, translating across all languages and customs; they understood exactly what had just happened, even if they didn't understand the reason for their Chieftain's death. Edward, aware that the tribe would likely need a moment to compose itself before being given any other trying tasks, gave his first order as acting Chieftain.

"You may return to your tasks now." Edward said in the Blackfoot dialect.

The tribe dutifully followed the order on the spot, and returned to looting the bodies among other tasks; many did so with tears in their eyes. It was truly something to be admired; perhaps they weren't entirely efficient, but Joblo still had a dutiful force at his whim, not even in the NCR army had Edward seen such servility.

There was, of course, one more task for the day. Calhoun was still useful to Edward, regardless of his palpable disapproval of Edward in general, but Graham still needed to be taken care of; if he wasn't going to be part of the solution, he'd be part of the problem, meaning he'd have to go. Edward, in an uncharacteristically empathetic demeanor, turned to Graham and added onto the case that he had presented the previous night.

"This isn't a defensive war anymore, Joshua, it's total war. As I said, it won't be pretty, but I'm genuinely of the opinion that we can help people, if we can place matters like "ethics" aside long enough to do so. I'm not going to stop you if you want to go; I can get some of the warriors to escort you out of the Canyon. I know that your God won't likely approve of what's going to happen next, so I don't expect you to either. It was your choice the other night, it's still your choice."

Graham was at an impasse; on one hand he had his personal views that doing good did, in extraordinary cases, justify the means, while on the other hand he could swear that he almost heard his family, his religion, his God, begging him not to submit to such a philosophy.

Regardless, no matter how much Graham hated it, God didn't seem to be directly helping the wasteland. He didn't descend from Heaven to guard people from raiders or radscorpions, didn't give food or water to starving beggars, didn't give medicine to cripples or addicts; humanity, for the first time in history, seemed to be without God's grace. Then again, perhaps that was appropriate, considering the fact that mankind had gotten itself into this situation; thusly, perhaps in penance for its sins, it was left solely to mankind to get itself out. Thusly, could it not also be logically inferred that things such as providing sustenance and shelter needed to be achieved through whatever means necessary, regardless of moral proclivities? Did such ends truly justify the means? Graham could only hope so, considering what he was about to contribute to.

"These are not ordinary circumstances humanity finds itself in, the old world in which your…ideas were marked as taboo is…no longer here. Even my God, despite being all that is good, has occasionally shown ruthlessness; Sodom and Gomorrah were destroyed for their heinous sins, they weren't written strongly worded letters. Perhaps, in such extraordinary conditions, we...I…. have my God's blessing to do… whatever is needed."

The answer was sufficient, and subtly submissive. Edward nodded, and turned toward his newly acquired tent.

"We'll speak soon." He said.

As Edward walked away, he let a somewhat sinister grin slip, in silent triumphant pride of his deeds today, especially in regards to Graham.


	7. Chapter 7

-Sorry if I'm being pushy, but I'm sure you can see how lack of reviews makes me sad faced :( If this is in response to a particular style of writing or story path I'm taking I apologize, but I'd love to hear what the criticism is so I can fix it! Anything? Anything you don't like? Anything you do like? I'll hear you out, I swear! I know I'm getting views, it just feels more and more that my readers are becoming dissatisfied with this :( Oh, ahead of time, some of the comments in this may seem extremely intolerant/sexist toward women. Please just know that I DON'T think this way; this is all from Edward's perspective, just a heads up. This is a bit short since I like where it ends (I have a habit of ending in places that others might consider awkward), hope you don't mind, sorry if you do. Well, I suppose I'll just say once more that I'd like to get some reviews, and then leave you to read. Enjoy! (hopefully)

Chapter 7

Sitting in the Chieftain's tent while others had no other choice but to stand represented an unmistakable aura of power; of authority, of justifiable pride, and, most importantly to its current occupant, of cunning. For no longer would the Blackfoots struggle just for self-preservation under the auspices of a withered old man, no longer would they bend knee and cower before other tribes when "necessary", no longer would they cling to traditions and practices that were tangibly no longer applicable or advantageous. For today, a new tribe had been birthed from the ashes of an old one; a new presence, a new power, a new authority, a new empire; a new Legion.

Edward's short term plans (his long term ones were still in in deliberation) called for the immediate reeducation of the tribals via Joshua regarding the customs of Rome subsequent to his complete assumption of power over the tribe. Of course, now that that had already happened, haste would have to be made to ensure that, while simultaneously disposing eliminating hostile tribes as threats, more social and political issues would be adequately dealt with.

Everything from familial arrangements, language, more in depth knowledge of tactics than what had already been taught, anything and everything that Edward knew would now be imparted unto the tribe, hopefully in a generally timely fashion; time may have been in relatively good supply, but Edward's patience was not. A definitive ranking structure for the army would also have to be enforced as soon as possible, once again via Joshua.

Naturally, however, the tribals were not made privy to the knowledge that what they were being taught did not stem directly from Edward's bright young mind and ruthless ingenuity; they didn't know that, in more ways than one, they were living a lie.

There were few things that Edward was actually fearful of; physical danger to him personally, uncertain conditions, and military defeat (now that he had his own army) ranked highly. Out of all of his fears though, Edward could think of nothing more frightening at the present time than being exposed for what he truly was; fraudulent, plagiaristic, spurious; false.

Edward would humorously recall years later that, at the time, he equated stealing the ideas of a genius who had lived centuries ago to form a semi utopia with copying homework off of one of his fellow students when he was ten years old. Of course, the former was much more serious; the ramification for passing off another's homework as one's own was, as Edward recalled, a smack on the wrist from a ruler.

Passing off another's political, economic, social, and military ideas as one's own, though, carried much greater risk. The tribals may have respected Edward, but only for his knowledge and originality, and of course for the stability he had already brought in such a short time. Once, if, his "originality" was shown to be derivative, however, this stability would likely be annulled, and Edward would likely find himself in a situation similar to that which his predecessor had faced only a couple of days ago.

To that end, Edward placed creating a uniform identity, one that none of his people would have the gall to question, highly on his agenda (crushing his enemies into dust still took precedence). Of course, maintaining such a monolithic identity was easier said than done, and required fairly intellectual thought; what was one thing that none would be audacious enough to challenge?

Regardless, things were looking propitious for the Blackfoots at the moment; two more skirmisher parties had come in the last two days, and each one had been easily slaughtered. And with Calhoun dutifully continuing his medical work on the few Blackfoots who were actually still wounded, there seemed to be little to genuinely impair the Blackfoots' progress at the moment.

"May I ask why exactly you wish for the Blackfoots to emulate every possible detail about Ancient Rome? This will take ages, I'd like to see this "percect" society that you've promised while I'm still young, alive even."

Except, perhaps, for Graham. Edward seemed almost offended as he looked up from his book to his (albeit reluctant) right hand man; he obviously wasn't in the best of moods, which was perhaps justifiable considering he'd practically abandoned everything he knew all of his life in the course of a couple of days for the sake of a narcissist who thought he could be a better ruler than an entire republican government.

"Ancient Rome is a blueprint for a society with staying power; it's also completely foreign, alien to such isolated tribes, so there's little to no risk of my… borrowing of ideas from extinct cultures creating division. If we're going to have such unity though, we need to all be headed in the same direction; so, we all need to be taught the same things, if it takes years to do so it'll still be worth it."

"So that justifies murdering your subjects if they so much as question your will? Societies have been made from diversity, intellectual debate, the freedom to inquire; taking those away would take away what makes us human."

Of course, there it was. Joshua may have invited, tolerated, even practiced pragmatism once in a while, but he was likely to have at least a few lingering and unbreakable ideals for the rest of his life; apparently his principles regarding killing were among them. Edward had suggested earlier that, in order to maintain order in the "empire", examples be made out of those who were either disobedient, disloyal, or just plain useless.

In doing so, none would question his will or go against him lest they suffer the same grim fate; it would even indirectly instill a hard work ethic among those who had no interest in suffering his wrath (which was likely to be everyone). Joshua, however, wasn't fond of the idea, and suggested that the killing remain on the battlefield. If Joshua's goal was to guilt Edward into seeing the error of his cruel ways, he'd failed miserably.

"What you say may be true to an extent, but how many societies have also been broken because of such "diversity"? The United States government couldn't even get anything done in its final days because of agenda disparities, and as we all know, it suffered for it. As much as I encourage, and plan to encourage, independent thought among my lessers, how much can be brooked before irreparable rifts are created? How many iconoclasts can go unchecked before internal conflict ensues?"

Joshua grudgingly sighed, before rubbing his forehead in silent admittance that he wasn't the only sensible one in the immediate vicinity.

"I…understand."

With that, Joshua gently placed the book that he was holding back on the table, and walked slowly out of the tent to go do his job. Edward may have lacked genuine compassion, but he knew what people felt when he looked at them; Joshua was already regretting what he was doing. Edward would have to find a way to make it up to him, more for his own benefit than Graham's.

Of course, regardless of Graham's admittance that Edward had valid points, much of what the aspiring dictator had just said was a lie; encouraging independent thought, even in its most precocious forms, was the last thing needed in the wasteland, let alone his "empire".

After all, in Edward's eyes, only ignorant people felt that they had the right to form opinions and debate on things of which they had no knowledge of, especially in a world where people were lucky just to find scraps of irradiated food or dirty water to scrape by on. To him, the philosophy was rather simple; would people rather eat and be given basic rights in exchange for hard work, or be overly dogmatic in a world where nothing's achieved from being so?

Edward heard the flap open, and looked up to see the surly Graham enter once more.

"Something else regarding your ideals need addressed?" Edward said directly.

"No, I thought you might like to know that your child slaves have returned, no doubt you'll be eager to debrief them."

_Very surly indeed. _Edward thought to himself.

""Child slaves?" That's a bit libelous, don't you think? They're committed soldiers just like the rest of these men, and their return indicates to me that they've done their job correctly. Have them sent in, then return to your task please."

"Of course, Edward, whatever you say, I'm sure your "not child slaves" will be very eager to report their findings."

Graham stormed out as he and Edward ended their conversation on a negative note for a second time. If killing people for being mildly rebellious wasn't something Joshua showed extreme censure toward, using children for the sake of the war effort was.

Edward, just prior to the battle, had three children sent to each of the opposing tribes' camps, in order to find out when the next tradeoff of supplies between the three was to take place. Graham strongly suggested that adults be used instead due to the danger that the spies would no doubt face, while Edward rationalized that children would be the last to be suspected of being spies. While the premise was pragmatic, Graham once more let his ideals get in the way of practicality, and condemned the idea in every way, shape and form; Edward almost could have sworn that he was going to take a bullet from Graham's .45 the moment he turned his back on him.

The three children entered shortly after Graham left, dirt and lash marks pervading their faces. It was a sight that would have likely provoked a more sympathetic person, perhaps, but not Edward; only efficiency and meticulousness occupied his thoughts nowadays, all other details and occurrences were incidental. Edward moved around from the desk to get a better view of the children, and held the face of one in his hand, moving it at his leisure to examine the soon to be scars.

No doubt this was exactly what Graham was afraid of; Edward could've sworn he was the child equivalent of a feminist the way he went on and on about the "dignity" and "worth" of children. And yet, in Edward's mind, they were just another asset, as were weapons, men, even women. Of course, treating women like assets was hardly anything new in the Grand Canyon; if the Blackfoots had gotten one thing correct prior to Edward's stumbling upon the tribe, it was that women weren't permitted to take part in battle.

_One less thing that needs changed. _Edward thought.

To him, women weren't meant to be philosophers, fighters, etc.; they were meant to stay at home and keep their houses in order, physical and intellectual tasks were far better off left to men. Of course, that wasn't to say that women would have no place in his empire; child bearing was still imperative since, aside from Edward's…_other _plan for attaining recruits, biological reproduction was the only other one he knew of.

_Can't exactly just clone people nowadays. _Edward thought to himself.

"Lo goc qu saj quarat?" Edward said in inquisition as to why the children were still alive since they were clearly discovered.

The eldest looking child, who couldn't have been more than twelve or so, responded, saying that they were all captured, beaten, and then, unexpectedly, let go. Edward folded his arms and buried himself in thought; why would they be beaten and then set free?

As Edward recalled there was one member of the previous attack squad that had escaped (as was intended) to return to his fellows to inform them of the Blackfoots' newfound viciousness, so the fact that the fate of three Blackfoot children laid in the hands of the other tribes only for them to be let go indicated that, while the tribes still wanted to send a message to the Blackfoots that they were not to be trifled with, one thing occupied their thoughts in regards to the newly threatening tribe; fear, enough for them to tolerate spies with punishment far less than death, likely out of expectance of further reprisal.

Regardless of how poignant the sight of the children was likely to be for Graham and his values, they had accomplished their mission just the same; supplies were to be moved out of the camp within the day, and taken to a crossroads a few miles from the Blackfoot camp. Disrupting the exchange had a dual purpose; each opposing tribe would be destitute and unable to effectively fight back without the trade, and the war machine that was the Blackfoot tribe would have even more ore to load into its blast furnace, creating a well-oiled machine from the vestiges of one that had long since fallen into disrepair.

The children exited the tent after Edward curtly excused them, leaving their leader in silent contemplation. Edward had only just realized that, since his commandeering of the tribe, he'd been sitting up completely straight every time he sat down; it was actually becoming quite uncomfortable, and it also implied that he had something to be worried about, or that his utmost attention was required to overcome some seemingly insurmountable set of circumstances. And yet, this wasn't the case; sitting up straight, tense, and unnerved was better left to his enemies.

_Why worry? The pieces are all already falling into place; all I need to do is wait. _Edward thought to himself.

With that, Edward put his feet up on the desk and leaned back in his chair, in cocky and vainglorious triumph of his deeds. The idea never once crossed his mind that he was becoming unduly overconfident too soon, that anything could possibly be a threat to him at this stage; of course, he wasn't too far wrong.

_Celebration; need something to celebrate. _Edward thought.

As if placed there by appropriateness itself, Edward saw that one of the drawers of the desk had been open the whole time, and contained several packs of cigarettes.

"A bit indulgent, weren't we?" Edward thought aloud.

Edward had actually considered cigarettes disgusting (he didn't like the idea of slowly poisoning himself) but he couldn't deny that they must have been semi relaxing; people wouldn't have smoked the hazardous "death sticks" otherwise. He took a cigarette from one of the already opened packs, and grabbed a lighter that was also conveniently placed inside. He placed the cigarette in his mouth and lit up, taking deep relaxed breaths in and out as the smoke traveled through his throat.

_I should get them moving now; the tribes may be moving faster than those kids accounted for. _Edward thought.

Edward expelled the impetuous thoughts from his head once again; moving quickly and not taking his time implied that there was a chance of failure or other mishaps, which was not the case; what could go wrong? Graham may have currently been in a foul mood, but he wasn't just going to forget his purpose for doing what he was doing anytime soon, the exchange was being conducted in what was practically a valley, which made it a field day for snipers and a nightmare for the other tribes; casualty projections, lack of supplies or leadership, it had all already been taken care of. Arrangements had already been made, the die had already been loaded and cast, the odds were stacked, and the field was set. Once more, all Edward needed to do was to wait. And, of course, smoke.


End file.
